


Thunderstorms

by Periazhad



Series: pack [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Wolves, Child Neglect, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Robin, Pack, Pack Feels, Panic Attacks, Tim Drake is a pup, Touch-Starved, Whump, Wolf Pack, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:02:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29706531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periazhad/pseuds/Periazhad
Summary: Tim Drake lives all alone in his huge house, hiding his shift.The Wayne pack lives right next door.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: pack [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2178348
Comments: 79
Kudos: 675
Collections: Avidreaders Batman completed faves





	Thunderstorms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iselsis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iselsis/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Tiny!Tim au](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22013503) by [wintersnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersnight/pseuds/wintersnight). 



> I need someone to title my works and write the damn summaries, because I hate it.
> 
> Ise, I kept thinking you'd enjoy a scared tiny Tim while writing this, so it's for you.
> 
> I wrote this one first, and I like it the best.

It’s lonely in Drake Manor. His parents, who are never here, made it very clear Tim was never to let anyone know he was a shifter. Since he can’t do anything obvious, like make his room into a den, he finds an out of the way spare room and puts a lock on the closet door. Then he can make a den and no one will ever find it. It’s not as though anyone ever stays in the extra rooms. The house is always empty.

When his parents were home, they didn’t have time for him. They never made a den and invited him in, never shifted with him, never talked to him about shifting. They never really talked to him about anything.

Tim has a dress from his mom and a shirt from his dad; he snuck into their room and stole them last time they were home. They don’t really smell like them, anymore. The scent wasn’t even that comforting, but for a while it let him pretend he wasn’t all alone. He’d shift and curl up, covering his nose with his tail, imagining someone was with him.

His body aches, lately, all the time. He doesn’t have a temperature, doesn’t have sniffles or a cough. He tries cold medicine and tylenol, but the aching never goes away.

Somehow, all his clothes have gotten a little too big for him. He wonders if the housekeeper bought him new clothes, the same as his old, but just a size bigger. Maybe she thought he was growing.

He’s cold, all the time, even as a wolf. Tim turns up the heat, but spends most of his time shivering and aching. He wonders if he should call the doctor, but realizes his parents wouldn’t like that; any chance of exposure wouldn’t be good for them. They’ve pretended to be human for too long. No one is going to believe they’re both human if their only child is a shifter. He’s doing just fine, anyway.

Sometimes he wants to howl, a mournful howl, to bring back his family, to bring back warmth and love and safety. He can’t bring back what he’s never had. His body yearns to pour out his pain, share his suffering with a pack, and be comforted. He can’t, though. It’s never safe to howl.

It’s summer, but he’s still cold all the time. He opens windows, trying to let in warmth, trying to banish the chill that seems to never leave. The housekeeper goes on her week-long break, leaving plenty of food for him to eat, only none of it seems quite right. But then, Tim hasn’t been hungry in a long time. He unlocks his den, shifts, curls up, and goes to sleep.

There’s a bang, and he startles awake. A thunderstorm. He shakes himself, and pads out of the room to look out the window. Bright light flashes, followed by another bang. He’s not exactly afraid, but it would be nice to feel safer. The urge to howl wells up in him again. He’s so tired that he’s not sure he can stop it. The storm is so noisy; surely it will cover any sound.

The howl startles him, and he realizes he’s never heard himself make noise while shifted. 

He’s not going to go back to sleep, so he might as well shift back and watch a movie. He shifts—but no, he doesn’t, nothing happens.

He shakes himself, and tries to shift again. Nothing happens. He howls again, this time in terror. He can’t be stuck as a pup! He tries, over and over, and stays a pup.

He runs around the room in circles, howling. The door to the room is partially open, so he nudges his way through it and goes sprinting down the hallways. He’s never run through the house as a pup before. His parents’ rules were too firm for him to risk discovery. It’s not an enjoyable experience when he’s stuck in a shift. He’s never even heard of anyone getting stuck. How did he get stuck? How does he get _unstuck_?

Terror and panic are filling his mind. He’s alone, he’s vulnerable, and someone is going to find out he’s a shifter! He sprints into the main living room, still howling, and spots the open windows. He can at least get out of the house, outside, into the woods, and hide from anyone. No one has to see him until he can figure out how to change back. He’s shifted; surely he can survive in the woods as a wolf until he’s figured this out.

It’s dark and wet, raining, and he sprints into the woods as though someone might be watching. He’s never gone outside while shifted before, and the terror is momentarily overtaken by joy. The smell of wet earth rising up all around him, his paws churning the mud and leaves, while wind whips through his fur as he sprints; he knows this is what he was made for. This is where he belongs.

He runs freely, carelessly, and stops short when he reaches another house. Wayne Manor. Of course, they’re right next door and he must have run all the way through the woods without realizing it. He starts to back up, frightened, when he remembers they’re wolves. Their alpha keeps bringing home pups; he has two now. Surely he’d be willing to help him shift back, and promise not to tell? Shifters are good at keeping secrets.

He trots hopefully up to the door, but realizes he can’t ring the bell or even knock. He stares, mournfully, about to lose hope. What if he’s stuck like this forever? No would even know it’s him, because he’s never told anyone. Grief and terror rise and he finds himself howling again. If he can’t shift back it won’t even matter if someone sees him; they’ll never know him for his parents’ son. His parents might not even know him. He wouldn’t know them in shifted form, since he’s never seen them.

His ears, much more sensitive while shifted, pick up noises from inside. 

“—hear that?”

“Was it—”

“It must have come from outside.” The door opens suddenly, spilling out bright light. He closes his eyes; the light is too bright after the stormy darkness.

“Holy shit, that’s a wolf pup. Hey Dad, didja adopt another one and not tell us?”

“Hey there, little guy.” He blinks up at them, suddenly aware he’s dripping rainwater.

“He’s soaked, Dick, we hafta bring ‘im in. Alfred, we need some towels!”

“Want to come on in?” That’s the older pup. _Dick,_ his human mind whispers. “It’s warmer in here, we can get you dry and keep you safe.” That’s all he’s _ever_ wanted, and he bounds into the entryway. He’s still dripping water and, before he can stop himself, he shakes water everywhere.

“Wait—”

“Stop—”

But there’s water splattered all over the two boys, and he looks up at them in remorse. They’re going to be angry. He flattens his ears and sinks onto his belly, whining. He didn’t mean to! He’s never gotten wet as a pup, he didn’t know what was happening until it was too late! It’s his fault, though, he should have explored his shifted shape, and learned more, and then maybe he wouldn’t even have gotten stuck and come here.  
  


“Hey, pup, it’s okay. It’s just water.” He opens one eye. The younger pup is crouched, holding out a hand for him to sniff. He sniffs once, and sneezes.

Footsteps sound in the hallway and a man walks in; the alpha. He runs to the alpha, because here finally is someone who can help him. He yips, trying to communicate that he’s stuck, looking up at him hopefully. He yips again. _Help me._

The alpha crouches down, holding out a hand for him to sniff. He huffs, angrily; he doesn’t want to _sniff,_ he wants to be _helped._

“What’s a wolf pup doin’ out here? Where’d he come from? Where’s his pack?” That’s the younger one. _Jason_ , his human mind tells him. Jason’s stood up and is taking towels from an older man further down the entryway.

“Dad...” The older pup is standing closer, watching them. “You don’t suppose he’s stuck, do you?” He yips excitedly, trying to agree.

Even with a fur coat, he’s starting to shiver. Suddenly, Jason drops a towel over him and scoops him up.

“Jason! Don’t scare him!”

“Look at ‘im, Dickie. He ain’t scared of us.” It’s true, he’s not. Wrapped up in the towel, he’s finally getting warm. His shivering slows, and then stops. Jason is cradling him like he’s a baby; he might be a pup, but he’s not a _baby._ It feels too nice to fight, though.

The older man has come closer, seeing that he’s not afraid.

“Oh my, look how thin he is.” Everyone peers at him, and he yawns.

“Dad,” Dick is saying. “I don’t think he has a pack. Why else would he be here, howling at our door?”

  
“If no one’s been feedin’ ‘im, his pack ain’t worth much anyways,” Jason says darkly, cuddling him closer.

He’s never been cuddled before. It’s nicer than he imagined. He’s warm and safe, and suddenly he doesn’t want to shift back. They’d surely send him home, and then he’d be all alone again. As he yawns again, he realizes the aches in his body are gone. They’ve been there for months, and now they’re suddenly gone. Maybe he just needed to spend more time shifted.

“I have something in the kitchen; we should feed him before he falls asleep in your arms, Master Jason.” The old man walks away, and the rest of the pack follow him. It’s like the old man is the real alpha, he thinks sleepily, snuggling into Jason’s chest. 

In the kitchen, Jason sets him down and he whimpers. The ache is back, and he’s cold and lonely, and it _hurts_ ; he thought it was _gone_. He’s whining, not even realizing he’s doing so, and Jason is suddenly petting him. He abruptly quiets, closing his eyes, soaking in the warmth and feel of Jason’s hand stroking through his fur. 

“I’ll keep my hand on you, but you gotta eat.” 

He opens his eyes, and there’s a plate in front of him. Some cooked steak, asparagus, and a roll. He gobbles up the steak. He had no idea he was so _hungry._ He eats the roll, too, but only sniffs at the asparagus before turning back to thrust himself into Jason’s chest. He wants to be warm, he wants to be snuggled, and he wants it _now._ He’s never felt so safe.

Jason says, “I don’t like it much either, when I’m a pup. Can you shift back for us?” He pauses, wondering if he should try. He feels much better. But if he shifts, this all goes away. He doesn’t even try, just burrows into the warmth more. “Okay, okay, I’ve got you, you gotta stop shoving me.” Jason is laughing at him, Bruce and Dick smiling from across the room.

Once he’s comfortable in Jason’s arms, he yawns again. He could just sleep right here.

“Let’s find him a place to sleep,” the alpha says.

“Maybe just take him to your room, Little Wing. He seems to be rather attached to you,” teases the older pup.

Jason is looking down at him, but glances up and says, “Your room, Dad.” There’s a pause. “If he’s packless...I remember what it was like, to be all alone. For some reason, he trusts us. Your den will smell the best and feel the safest.” Jason sounds sad, and he whines a little, worried. “Hey, no, pup, don’t worry. You’re gonna love the main den. It’s warm and comfy and we can all stay.”

It is as promised. A large bed, and the rest of them shift into wolves so he’s suddenly surrounded by paws and tails and fur and warmth. It’s nothing he ever dreamed he’d have, and he’s struck by a sudden fear he’s going to wake up in his closet, alone.

He tries to stay awake, to stay in the dream, to stay happy and safe and warm, but he can’t. All the terror and panic, all the loneliness and pain, are catching up to him. He can’t remember ever being this warm and safe, in the middle of a pack pile, and he drifts off to sleep.

\---

When he wakes up, he’s still a wolf. The alpha is gone, but the two larger pups are curled around him. He yawns, and they shift back to humans.

“Hey, you want to shift back with us?” He most definitely does _not._ It kind of feels like he might be able to if he tries, but the housekeeper isn’t due back for five more days; he’s not giving up a moment of this until he absolutely must. He leaps out of the bed, stretches, and trots jauntily over to the door. Perhaps it’s breakfast time?

Eggs and bacon are delicious, and even pancakes aren’t bad as a wolf. He’s never eaten much as a wolf before, but they seem to know what will taste the best. The alpha says he’s going to look into any packs that might have entered the area and check for reports of missing pups.

He quietly huffs. Even if his parents came home and he was gone, they’d hardly report him. Maybe he should just stay here, as a wolf. No one seems to mind. 

Dick asks, “Do you want to watch a movie? Or go outside for a walk?” He thinks for a moment. It was glorious to be outside, but his full tummy is already making him sleepy again.

“What’ll it be, pup, a movie?” Jason is petting him, and he yips while stretching luxuriously under the attention. He wants Jason to never stop.

He doesn’t even know what movie they choose. He stretches out across both their laps, warm and safe yet again, and drifts off into sleep. They give him a snack when he wakes, and take him outside when he expresses interest.

They try to walk with him in the woods, but he just whines and yips at them until finally Jason says, “Oh!” and shifts into a wolf. He runs excitedly up to Jason, trying to say _isn’t this_ _fun_ _?_ The three of them run through the woods, and he never tires of the smell and feel of the woods around him.

His body does get tired, though, and they bring him back to the Manor for another meal and another nap. He can’t remember when he’s slept or eaten so much. He just hadn’t been hungry, and it was hard to sleep with everything aching. Now, though, everything is perfect and amazing.

They encourage him to shift back, but he knows they’ll send him home so he won’t even try. It’s easier not to think about what he’s doing, when he’s a wolf. Complicated worries feel out of reach. He’s feeling good, and that’s all that matters to the wolf.

He spends the next three days much the same, and realizes he needs to go home at the same moment he realizes he wants to be able to come _back._ This means they can’t know who he is, and that means he needs to sneak away.

Even if he were a human, they would be able to run faster. And he can’t risk the pack seeing him as a human. He needs to escape, but, since he’ll be shifted, he needs to do it outside. In books and movies, people hide their scent in water. There’s a stream in the woods; he can just walk in it for a little bit and sprint back to his house.

\---

On his final day, he wakes up in the den like usual. Bruce and Dick are usually missing; he assumes they’ve been out in Gotham. Dick probably crashes in his room, to try to keep him from being curious about why Dick sleeps in so late. He’s not sure if the alpha ever sleeps. He feels badly Jason never seems to go into Gotham, but it’s so comforting to always have Jason with him. The one time he woke up from a movie and Jason was gone, he started _howling_. Jason came skidding back in at a run, hands dripping water, and scooped him up.

“Shhh, pup, I was just in the bathroom, I’m right here.” He was shaking; he thought Jason was gone. Everyone always leaves, they have more important things to do. His parents have their work, this pack has all of Gotham, and he’s just not that important.

He wishes he could stay and wake up in wolf piles every morning, feel safe and warm all the time, and be able to eat food every day. It’s too hard to eat all the time by himself, especially if the ache comes back when he’s a human. But he can’t go missing and worry his housekeeper. He just needs to get away clean, so he can come back on weekends when she won’t miss him.

The breakfast tastes better than usual, and he savors every bite. The alpha stops by, asks him again if he wants to shift to human, and he just whuff. He worried the alpha would be mad after a couple of days, but every day he just smiles and ruffles his fur. It feels so good to be touched by the alpha that he melts every time.

After lunch, he knows it’s time. He goes outside with the bigger pups; they’ve started teaching him a little about tracking and playing. He never knew games with other people, other pups, were so much _fun_.

When they disappear for him to practice tracking them, he runs for the stream instead. He pads gently through it, not wanting to make noise by splashing, until he’s close to Drake Manor. Jumping out of the stream, he bolts for the Manor. 

The window is still open, and, once inside, Tim shifts back to human. He nearly falls over. His body is stiff and sore; it feels wrong to be on two feet, not four, and he can’t smell anything. He makes himself move, shutting all the windows, grateful they all opened onto tiled or hardwood floors. Wet carpet from the storm would be hard to explain away. He locks all the windows and all the doors. If, somehow, they follow him here, they won’t be able to get in. At the front door, he finally relaxes. He’s safe.

Tim doesn’t feel safe, though. He felt safe with ~~his~~ the Wayne pack, safe and warm and wanted. He wasn’t _really_ wanted, though. He was just...an obligation. They thought he was packless, abandoned, someone in trouble. They didn’t know he had an entire house, an actual mansion, with parents and a housekeeper, and enough food and clothing for a dozen or more pups.

His lip wobbles. He _wishes_ he had a dozen pups with him. Why was he the only pup? He was clean, and quiet, and well-behaved. He’d look after another pup just fine once mother and father left. He wouldn’t be alone; they’d all den together and run in the woods and be _happy_. 

He finds himself starting to sniffle, standing by the locked front door, and he turns for his den.

It’s not the same. It’s empty and cold, and he’s alone again. He feels a howl rising up, and he forces it back down. Secrecy, always secrecy. 

If the Waynes are looking for him, he can’t give his position away. It’s harder to keep quiet, though, now that he knows the freedom of giving voice to his pain and joy. He doesn’t quite understand how mother and father keep it locked away. Perhaps, at their dig sites, they’re able to shift and no one minds there. Maybe he can go with them when he’s bigger.

\---

Dick and Jason stand in the woods watching the small boy run from window to window, slamming them down. The silence is heavy. They never really left the pup; they would watch from between the trees as he’d sniff and sneeze, trying to find their scent. He never seemed to realize they were so close, so, when the pup ran, they were right behind him. 

Even when he disappears from their sight, deeper into the house, they stay there, watching.

Finally, Jason says, “What the fuck, Dickie?”

Dick’s standing rigidly, grim, and Jason thinks he looks like Nightwing right now. “I don’t know, Jason. He seems safe enough; let’s go check in with Dad.”

In the Cave, Bruce calls up a recent photo of their neighbor, Timothy Drake. Jason and Dick nod; that’s the kid they saw in the house. That’s the pup they’ve been taking care of all week. That’s the pup that came to them wet, underfed, touch-starved, and traumatized. He’s been _next door_ the whole time.

Where are his parents? His pack? How did no one notice him missing? Did something happen to the Drakes, and is he all alone? Why wouldn’t Tim shift and tell them who he is? Why wouldn’t he stay?

There’s an ache growing in Jason’s chest, and he shoves it aside to dig into the Drake’s records.

“Lookit this Dad, did ya see this? They’re _always_ traveling, and never a ticket for their pup.” 

Bruce is digging into their financial records.

“Did ya find a record of his babysitters? Where’s his current one?”

A pause. “I can’t find a record of a current babysitter or nanny.”

A heavier pause. Dick looks up from combing through family records, trying to figure out if the Drakes were all wolves. “You mean, they’re paying cash under the table to some poor immigrant, right?”

“I mean,” Bruce says, slowly, deliberately, “that once he turned six, the records for a nanny go away and it’s just a housekeeper coming 5 days a week.”

The silence thickens. Jason isn’t looking through paperwork anymore. He’s looking at Bruce, and a thunderstorm is brewing. Dick’s flipping through papers, and he suddenly shoves them aside in a flurry. “Who cares if they’re wolves? It doesn’t matter; we need to go get him _right now.”_

“We never shoulda let him get away from us; he’s just a pup!” 

Timothy Drake is eight years old, but Jason would have guessed 6 at most. Scrawny, scared, underfed, but now he is Jason’s. He’s not leaving any packmate, let alone their smallest one, somewhere he’s not safe.

“It’s not that simple, boys,” Bruce starts. “If he has a pack—”

“If he has a pack, then we’ll fuckin’ fight for ‘im.” Jason is standing now, vibrating with barely contained fury.

“Jason, lad, his parents—”

“It’s _abuse,_ Dad, intentional or not. We can’t just leave him there.” Dick is pacing, gesturing angrily. “You know, even if we report the abuse, CPS is corrupt, let alone the pack dynamic issues, and the Drakes have money and—”

“Let’s just go get ‘im, right now. No reason not to, ‘specially if his parents are still gone. Seems they’re the only pack he mighta had and they’re doin’ a shit job.”

Bruce looks at them, and realizes he’s not going to be able to hold them back. In the field, they listen to Batman. Usually. Sometimes. 

He sighs. At home, he never stands a chance. 

They’re not even wrong. Bruce spent less time with the pup than they did, trying not to get attached. No one could just abandon a pup; someone would show up soon to claim him. 

Truthfully, Bruce knew he was lost as soon as he saw the dripping, tiny pup bundled in Jason’s arms. His wolf claimed the pup, then and there, and even now his instinct to protect is thrumming through him. One of his pups is in danger, and all of Gotham’s underground knows that never ends well.

\---

The doorbell rings but he doesn’t move. His parents must have sent something; the delivery people know to ring the bell and leave it.

The bell rings again. He still doesn’t move. Even if it’s a new person, they’ll eventually figure out no one is home.

It rings, again and again. Huffing in irritation, he shakes before shifting back. He trots to the door, shouting “I’m coming!” as it rings again. He yanks open the door. “I’ve told you, just leave the pack—”

The Wayne pack is on his doorstep. Panic floods him, and he reminds himself he covered his scent in water; there’s no way they know he’s the pup that took advantage of their shelter. They must be asking around if anyone has seen the missing pup. 

He pulls up a society smile, fixes it to his face, and says, “Mr. Wayne, this is a surprise. My parents aren’t at home, may I take a message?”

Dick and Jason are just behind him, and Jason is staring intently at Tim. Tim shifts uneasily, but Jason can’t know the truth. Tim covered his tracks well. All the books say it works.

“When would you say they’d be back, Tim?” That’s not the Brucie Tim is used to hearing at Galas. It’s not the relaxed, affectionate alpha, either. This man is quiet, more serious, looking right at Tim. This is what he has imagined Bruce is like as Batman.

“Actually, Mr Wayne, they’re out of town. One of their digs, you know?” He smiles again, inviting Bruce to smile with him at his parents’ antics. Bruce doesn’t smile back and Jason’s scowl deepens.

“May we come in, Tim?” That’s Dick, looking serious as well.

Tim quietly panics. He can’t have them in his house, his big, cold, empty house! He can barely live here now, and if ~~his~~ the Wayne pack comes into his home and then _leaves_...a cold feeling grows in him. He smiles brightly and says, “This isn’t really a good time, perhaps—”

Jason shoulders past Bruce and pushes into the house. 

“ _Jason,”_ Dick hisses, but Bruce just looks resigned.

Tim turns to stare at Jason, shocked and terrified. They know, they must know, and they wanted to complain to his parents that he’d taken advantage and refused to shift, eaten their food, took up their time, and kept them from patrolling Gotham. 

Oh God, they _know,_ he can never go back, and they’ll tell his parents and mother will be so _angry,_ and maybe they won’t come home for even longer, and it’s not that much better when they _are_ home, but it’s at least a _little_ better. 

His fantasies of somehow visiting the Waynes on weekends, finding some small ways to banish the cold and pain and loneliness, vanish. Jason scowls down at him, looking furious, and Tim bursts into tears.

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I got stuck during the storm and I couldn’t shift back!” Dick and Bruce come inside, and Bruce shuts the door. They must all be furious with him, then. “Please, I’m sorry, _please_ just don’t tell my parents, they don’t—I’m not supposed to let anyone know I’m a wolf, but I panicked and ran outside to hide until I could shift back and ended up at your house.” 

He’s crying so hard he can’t see them anymore. “I knew you were wolves, and you’ve—you’ve adopted two pups and I thought maybe you’d be able to help and then—then I was so—so warm, and I’ve n—never felt safe before, and it didn’t _hurt_ when I was with you, and I could _eat,_ and—” He’s sobbing, hiccuping; he can’t breathe, he needs to explain, but he can’t.

Arms wrap around him, and Tim knows it’s Jason. “P—Please, Jason, don’t hurt me, I know it was wrong, _please,”_ he begs desperately. 

They’re much bigger than him, both as people and wolves, and Jason’s _Robin,_ and Tim deserves it, he knows he deserves it, but he really did get stuck. “I didn’t mean to—to eat your food and take up your time and—and—” Even through his panic, he doesn’t think he can admit he knows about their nightlife. They’re already angry.

He yanks out of Jason’s hold, and runs for his den. If he were thinking clearly, he’d know he could never outrun them. He’d know his den isn’t safe, especially not against the Bats, but he’s not thinking. 

He runs, sobbing, skidding on the tiled floors, locks the guest room, and locks himself in the closet. He shifts, and suddenly he’s howling. He can’t stop, he knows better, _but he can’t stop._ They know, the Waynes know, he can never go back, and his mom and dad will never forgive him, and everything is ruined. He makes himself stop howling, and curls up, tail over his face, shaking.

They’re going to come for him; the wolf knows this to be true. He took advantage of their pack. He _lied_ to them and he basically stole from them. They’re bigger, and stronger, and they’re _here._

He hears footsteps in the hallway, and whines, burying himself deeper into his small pile of clothes. He wishes he’d been able to take something of Jason’s when he left; he was planning on doing it the next time he visited. Oh god, he was _planning on stealing,_ he deserves whatever they do to him. He doesn’t realize he’s quietly whining, and someone tries the handle for his closet den. There are clicking sounds, and then light is pouring into his den.

Terrified, he rolls on his back, showing his belly and whining. _Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, please don’t hurt me._ All that happens is a big pup pads into the closet. Jason. He’s terrified, but Jason just noses him over on his belly. Pressing his body flat to the ground, still trembling, he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to see what’s coming. 

When Jason just licks him and presses up against him, he jerks in surprise. Normally, in the wild, it’s the submissive wolves who lick the more dominant ones. He’s never shifted with a pack before the Waynes, so maybe it’s different? It feels really nice.

When a different wolf flops down on his other side, he lets a surprised yip. He can tell it’s Dick. What do they _want?_ He’s warm again, and he shouldn’t feel safe, but he does. They smell like safety. His trembling slowing, he presses up closer to Jason, and Jason licks his head again.

Another wolf nudges his head. It’s the alpha. He can’t look up, can’t open his eyes. Pups are pups, they might forgive, but the alpha knows what he did was unforgivable and he deserves to be punished. He feels warm air wash over him, and then teeth close over his back. He goes limp with submission and terror as the alpha gently picks him up, carrying him out of the closet and down the hall.

He hears footsteps, human footsteps, and sees Dick opening the front door. They’re—they’re taking him out of his house. He wants to panic, but he’s being carried like a pup and somehow he knows to stay limp and submissive. He would have thought he was too big to carry, but the alpha is huge and doesn’t seem to mind. Jason pads next to them in the woods, while Dick bounds ahead. He closes his eyes, and tries not to think about what they’re going to do to him.

The door is open at the Manor, Dick’s doing again, and the alpha carries him right up to the main den and drops him on the bed. He shows his belly again, whining, because he’s _sorry,_ he didn’t _mean_ to take advantage. Jason presses up against him again, and he burrows into the warmth. 

Jason doesn’t seem angry, doesn’t seem like a threat. Dick presses up on his other side, and the alpha curls around them all. Maybe...maybe nothing is happening yet? Maybe they want to rest before they tear him apart? He trembles; he doesn’t _want_ to die, but he knows what happens when you cross a pack of wolves, especially the Wayne pack, the _Bat_ pack, although no one but him knows they’re the vigilantes patrolling the city. Jason presses into him harder when he feels him start to tremble again.

Maybe he should shift back, but no one’s asked. They’re all staying wolves; surely he should follow their lead. He’ll do whatever they want.

He finds he can’t stay terrified. Without meaning to, he yawns. It’s just that their den smells so good, and it’s warm, and the feeling of safety keeps washing over him. His The pack is pressed up against him, comforting. He drifts off into sleep before he knows it’s going to happen.

\---

When he wakes up in the den, he forgets for a moment what’s happened. It’s just another day with the Wayne Pack and he stretches, yawning. Bruce and Dick are gone, as usual, and it’s just Jason. He yawns again, and knowledge hits him like a thunderbolt. The shock makes him shift and, before he’s fully awake, he’s pressed back into a corner of the room, staring at the wolf on the bed, trembling. He never thought about how big a wolf would be when he was human. He just found their size comforting when he was a pup.

“P—please,” he stammers. “Don’t hurt me. I’m _sorry_ .” He’s crying, softly, hopelessly. He’s in their _den_ , he can’t go anywhere, no one will even know what happened to him. His legs won’t hold him up and he sinks down the ground, tears streaming down his face. 

Warm arms wrap around him and a voice says, “Timmers, you’ve got the wrong idea here. This ain’t a punishment, it’s a rescue.”

He hears the words, but— “I don’t need to be rescued, Jason, I was just _lying_ to all of you, I _have_ a home, and parents and—” he breaks off, crying again. “It was just so nice here, and I felt so safe and warm, and I wanted to just—just pretend that someone wanted me.” 

Jason is rubbing his back. “My—my house is so empty, and cold, and no one is supposed to know, and—” he buries his head in Jason’s chest, shaking.

Jason’s arms are tight and warm, and his voice is soft, when he says, “No one is mad at you.”

Another pair of arms slip around him, and he flinches, but Dick says, “Shhh, honey, it’s just me.”

“D—Dick, I didn’t mean it, just send me home, I’m _sorry.”_ He tries to pull away, to get away, to get home, but he can’t escape. “P—please, Dick, I didn’t mean it, I just—” 

He’s sobbing now, because he’s feeling warm and safe, but it’s a lie. He doesn’t deserve it, he never deserved it, and they’re going to _hurt_ him. “Just let me go home, _please._ I’ll never come back, I won’t—I won’t bother you again.” 

They’re both hugging him, warm and tight, hushing him. He knows his tears are a nuisance, knows he needs to stop crying and be brave and just face the pain and get it over with. More than the fear, though, he is crying because he is never going to get this again, and he wants this warmth and safety, this sense of belonging, so very much.

A deep, warm voice says, “Timothy. Look at me.” It’s Bruce, the alpha. Tim squeaks, and burrows deeper into Jason’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, alpha, I’m sorry! Please, let me go home!”

“Tim, no one is angry at you.” 

Tim can’t believe that. He—he took advantage of their kindness; he refused to shift back. He was here, so they couldn’t go out and protect Gotham properly. 

“Tim.” The voice is firm, but kind. 

Tim won’t look up, clinging to Jason. Calloused fingers gently lift his chin away from Jason’s shoulder. He looks up at Bruce, weeping openly.

“Please, p—please, just—” But he doesn’t even know what to to beg for. Mercy? He doesn’t deserve it. To go home? It’s clear they won’t let him. “Please, just get it over with, I’m sorry, I know I deserve it, just—just do whatever you’re going to do and let me home.” He can’t keep waiting, and the longer Jason hugs him the more it will hurt when he lets go.

“You can’t go home.” Tim flinches through his tears. No, but his parents—a little voice whispers _will they even care_? 

What—what are the Waynes going to _do_ to him? Surely they’re not going to kill him?

Maybe—but this is Batman and Nightwing and Robin. They wouldn’t sell him, would they? Wolf pups can fetch so much money. Maybe that’s what they’re planning to do, even though they don’t need the money. He overstepped, he assumed, he forced his way in, and now they have to sell him off to get rid of him.

“Please, alpha, don’t _sell_ me.” Tim can feel Jason flinch, and that must mean Tim’s figured it out. That’s why they’re not hurting him; they’ll probably get a lot more money if he’s not damaged. “Please, _please_ , don’t sell me, I won’t _ever_ come back, I won’t bother you ever again, you don’t need to sell me to get rid of me, _please.”_

“Tim, sweetheart, no.” Bruce is looking right at him, still holding his chin. “No one is getting rid of you.”

That means they’ll be doing the punishment themselves, to make sure he never bothers them again. As awful as being sold would have been, it’s not sure he can stand it if Jason hurts him. Despite his fear and terror, being held by Jason warms him.

He looks at Bruce, his eyes spilling over with tears as he pleads. “P—please, don’t let it be Jason.” He’s hiccuping, can barely get the words out. “When you—when the pack punishes me, _please,_ keep Jason out of it. I’ll do whatever you want, I won’t fight you, but I couldn’t—I can’t—just, not Jason, _please.”_

He wants to plead more, to beg until Bruce agrees, but his throat is too tight to continue. It’s going to hurt, going to be awful either way. He made a mistake and he has to pay the price.

Bruce drops his chin. Tim burrows back into Jason, shaking, and never wants to come back out.

“Tim, honey.” That’s Dick’s voice. “No one is going to hurt you.”

Tim is exhausted; you can’t cry forever. Resignation settles over him, weighing him down, and he can’t make himself move. He won’t be able to stop them. They’re going to drag it out and pretend it’s not happening until suddenly it hurts.

He’s not crying anymore, but fine tremors shiver through him. They’re going to have to drag him away from Jason, his fingers curling tightly into Jason’s shirt.

“We’re gonna keep you, pup.” That’s Jason’s voice, whispering into his ear. “We’re gonna keep you forever, as one of us.”

Tim stops breathing. That’s not—his parents—he couldn’t—but…

“Sweetheart, I filed for emergency custody while you were sleeping.” Tim lifts his head so fast he nearly smashes it into Jason’s head. Grateful Jason has Robin reflexes, Tim turns to look at Bruce.

“You did _what?_ But—but I’m not endangered, or abused.” He’s not. The house always has food, and he has a credit card if he needs anything. No one has ever hit him; his parents have never even yelled at him.

“Tim, you need a pack.” Dick runs a hand up and down his side, and Tim thinks he might purr if he wasn’t a wolf.

“I _have_ a pack.” They aren’t around very much, but his parents are his pack.

Jason growls. It’s almost subvocal, but Tim is pressed so tightly to him he feels it rumble into his bones.

“Not much of a pack. You showed up in the middle of a thunderstorm, underfed and stuck in a shift.”

Underfed? “I wasn’t _underfed_ ; there’s always food at home!” They’re not going to twist this up; Tim is fine. He was infringing on their pack. He wasn’t truly in _need_ of their care.

“You didn’t look like you’d been eating.” That’s Dick, still plastered over his back, keeping him warm.

Tim scowls. “That doesn’t mean they didn’t _feed_ me. I just wasn’t hungry.” And he wasn’t, until he came here.

“Why not?” Bruce brushes the back of his hand over Tim’s cheek. “Why weren’t you hungry, sweetheart?”

Tim looks away, down at the ground. He wants to lie, but he can’t lie to an alpha, especially one whose hospitality he’s abused. “I—everything ached, and I just didn’t feel hungry.”

A growl rumbles through his bones again, but it’s from Dick this time.

“Tim, sweetheart, that’s a symptom of being touch-starved.” Tim still can’t look at Bruce. He can’t really argue with being touch-starved. He’s always felt so alone, and no one ever touched him. Until he came here, he couldn’t remember the last time he was hugged or even bumped up against someone else.

It makes sense, then, that the ache went away while he was here. He was happy, while he was here. A tear slips down his face, and he lets his head drop back down onto Jason’s chest.

Jason grips him harder. “We’ve got ya, Timmers, we’re never lettin’ you go again. Dad filed for custody; he’s a foster parent, and no one's gonna take you away from us.”

Dick reaches up a hand to ruffle Tim’s hair. “He’s got really good lawyers and he can talk his way into anything. He took me home from the circus, and he wasn’t even a foster parent yet. The social workers still let him.”

“Hey!” Despite the outrage in Bruce’s tone, Tim can feel the warmth. “You were an orphaned pup without a pack, and I’m a wolf. That’s a perfect qualification to take you in.”

“Yeah, but ya know they thought you were a pervert and gonna hurt Dickie.” Tim shouldn’t feel a bit of shock at that, this is Gotham, but he’s still surprised.

“That’s why I went through with donations, and cleaned up the police force and social services.”

_Oh_ , Tim thinks, _that’s why Batman spent so much time on corruption_ . He thinks about Bruce later finding Jason on the streets. _And why he went after foster families_.

Maybe they do mean to keep him. Maybe they aren’t going to hurt him, or sell him. Bruce has adopted two other pups, and even though Tim doesn’t really _need_ to be adopted, Bruce would obviously like a larger pack. He wonders if he needs to worry about his parents’ reactions, but feels a little mutinous. His parents have never even shifted with him. He likes the Waynes _better_.

His body feels heavy, resting against Jason. Without meaning to do so, he yawns. As if it’s a signal, Dick peels off his back. Tim whines, feeling cold, and then instantly flushes. He’s not their pup, he can’t just—but Jason is standing, scooping Tim up, and bringing him back to the bed.

There’s a plate of food by the bed. Fruit, some eggs, and bacon. Tim carefully loosens just one hand from Jason and snags a piece of bacon. He thought he was tired, but he’s suddenly so hungry. Dick laughs, and holds the plate up closer to Tim.

“You know, pup, if you let go of Jason you can eat the eggs. You might need two hands for it, though.” Tim honestly does not think he can let go of Jason with both hands. Residual terror is still thrumming through his body, and if he lets go of Jason he’s not sure what will happen. Jason is the only thing keeping him safe.

There’s a knock at the door, and it opens. Still chewing, thinking about the eggs, Tim turns to see Alfred carrying a glass of orange juice. Even as a pup, he was impressed with Alfred’s ability to show up just as he was hungry or thirsty.

“Master Timothy, I do think you should sit up and drink some of this. It will refresh you.” Well, if Alfred says it’s a good idea. He’s basically in Jason’s lap, so Jason won’t leave without him knowing. He reaches out both hands, and drinks deeply. Fresh squeezed, as if Alfred would bring any other kind. 

Jason settles an arm around his waist, and Tim feels even better. Bruce is sitting on the edge of the bed, Dick is holding the plate, and Alfred is smiling at Tim from the foot of the bed.

Could this really be his pack? Could he have this, not just for weekends, but for always?

He finishes the juice, empties the plate, and snuggles back into Jason. Dick crawls up next to him, and Alfred settles a blanket over them. Bruce is still on the edge of the bed. Half asleep, Tim slurs, “Alpha, c’mon, come snuggle.”

Bruce leans over and kisses his head. “I’m going to keep watch, pup, and keep you safe.” A warmth fills him; his alpha is taking care of him, taking care of the pack. He drops off to sleep with a smile on his face.

\---

It takes him a week or two to really believe he’s not going back to his house. A social worker came, once Bruce judged him settled enough, and Tim found it easy to answer her questions. No, he didn’t see his parents much. No, there wasn’t a nanny or babysitter, he’s _eight;_ he’s not a baby. He can call the housekeeper if he needs extra help. She smiles at him, tells him he’s doing well, and then says she’d like to talk about his wolf.

Tim shifts uneasily in his seat; his parent’s admonition to not talk about being a wolf weighing heavily on him. Yes, both his parents are wolves. No, he doesn’t know if any other relatives are; he’s never met any other relatives. No, his parents never shifted with him or invited him into their den. No, he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about his shift. 

There wasn’t much to tell about his shifting experiences. He tells her that he made a den, secretly so no one would have to know, and he was careful to never make noise or go outside as a wolf. He tried really hard to follow his parents’ rules. If he hadn’t gotten stuck, he never would have left the house. Her pen moves along swiftly as he speaks.

“Tim, Bruce tells me you weren’t eating at your house. Can you talk about that?”

Tim shrugs. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“But you had food?” She presses.

“Yes, there was always plenty of food.” He doesn’t like to talk about how he felt, before the Wayne pack rescued him. The crushing isolation, the aches, the numbness of living. “I just wasn’t hungry.”

“Were you sick?”

“No, not really. I mean, my body hurt, but the medicines never helped, and it never really got better or worse.” He wishes he had something to hold in his hands, to fidget with. 

“Did your body always ache?”

“No, it just started around six months ago or so.” She’s busily making notes, and Tim reminds himself that Bruce said the truth is all he needs to tell. He wishes someone could be in with him, Jason or even Alfred. Being apart from his pack makes his chest feel cold, and his fingers are starting to ache.

“Does your body ache now that you’re with the Waynes?”

“No. Well, not if they’re nearby.” He is careful to tell the truth, like Bruce told him to do.

She looks up sharply from her notes. “Does it hurt now?”

Tim doesn’t want to say yes, because it’s better here, but Bruce told him to tell the truth. He hesitates and she must read the truth on his face. She gets up, opens the door, and Jason almost falls in. He must have been hovering right outside the door.

“You’re done, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, sitting down next Tim and flinging his arms around him. Tim sinks into him, the cold melting away, the ache banished.

He hears the social worker talking to Bruce. “You’ll need to limit the lengths of appointments, Mr. Wayne, which is easy to do with a doctor’s note.”

“Was there a problem?” Bruce sounds alarmed.

“He didn’t quite admit it, but it was clear his aches were already coming back. The longer he was without pack contact, the worse he looked. He probably needs counseling, but either someone will have to be in there with him or the sessions will have to be shortened. The isolation specialists are used to working around those limitations.”

Bruce thanks her, and comes to sit on Tim’s other side. From the depths of Jason’s shirt Tim says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t complain, but she figured it out.”

Smoothing Tim’s hair, Bruce says, “You don’t need to be sorry. You should never be in pain.”

Tim wants to argue that he’s not worth it, that he can stand a little pain, but he’s already learning that Bruce is inflexible in some of ideas.

\---

The only problem now is that Tim doesn’t know what to do about knowing their secret. Obviously, he could just confess, but what if they’re angry he figured it out? What if they kick him out? Social services wouldn’t put him back with his parents, probably, but he knows what it’s like in Gotham. Going back to the empty mansion would be safer than foster care.

They’re patrolling differently, Tim knows. They never go out all together anymore, because someone is always with him. Usually Jason, sometimes Dick, rarely Bruce. Before he was in the pack, the three of them were often seen out in Gotham together. Surely it’s safer for all three of them to go out together. But they wouldn’t endanger themselves just for Tim, right? They’d tell him, if it was important for him to know.

No one tells him anything, and he doesn’t say a word.

\---

One night, he wakes up in the den and he’s hungry. He’s been hungrier more often than he could ever remember being, but Alfred tells him it’s a good sign and he should eat whatever he likes, even in the middle of the night. He doesn’t like to wake Jason, so he slips away and goes down to the kitchen. He won’t be gone long enough for the cold to creep into him, especially since it takes a lot longer for him to feel it now.

At home, he never turned on the lights. The kitchen seemed too big and empty with just him, and he leaves the lights off here as well. Light isn’t really needed for making toast. This means he’s standing in the corner of the dark kitchen when the light comes on, and Bruce comes in supported by Dick and Alfred. 

There’s a smear of blood on Bruce’s forehead; he’s pale and limping. Dick has a line of stitches, fresh stitches, running up his arm. Tim can feel his eyes are wide, but they haven’t seen him yet. They’re focused on getting Bruce a seat while Tim is frozen.

Jason skids into the kitchen. “Has anyone seen—oh shit, B, what happened?” He darts over to help support getting Bruce into a chair.

Tim knows what happened. He kept the secret, and Jason didn’t go out with them, and Dick and Bruce got hurt because of his stupid selfishness. Who cares if he has to go to a mean foster home? At least he wouldn’t be alone, like before. Who cares if they throw him out? Gotham is so much bigger, and more important, than just him, and he’s just been _selfish._

Feelings well up in him as he tries to suppress them, but he hasn’t lived at home for weeks and he’s lost the ability to stay silent. A choked noise comes out unbidden, and Dick breaks off mid-word as they all turn to stare at him.

Tim is the first to break the shocked silence, saying, “I’m sorry. I’m _sorry,_ I should have—I should’ve told you I knew but I didn’t and you went out after Two-Face without Robin, because he was home with me!“ He’s shouting by the end.

Before the echoes finish, he’s turned and slipped out the side door, running. He hasn’t been alone in the Manor, not really. Someone is always with him, keeping him safe and warm, keeping the aches away. But he knows his way around, and they gave him his own room, even if he’s never slept in it. He heads there because he doesn’t know where else to go. He slams the door and locks it, not that it would stop his pack, because they’re _vigilantes,_ and he didn’t even tell them he knew!

He finds out he’s crying when he rubs his eyes and his hands come away wet. He should just—run away, go away, never bother them. He goes to the window, but it’s a long way down and he can’t climb so he turns around. The closet.

He pulls it closed behind him, but there’s no lock, no way to keep him safe. He shoves clothes in front of it, but knows it won’t stop them. Maybe they’ll just stay away, leave him alone while they call social services, and have someone else pull him out of his closet and take him away.

Someone in the pack knew he might make a den here. There are a few clothes from everyone in a small pile. His breath hitches in a sob. Everyone has been so kind and good, and it was perfect, and he ruined it by being stupid and selfish. It was all his fault. He knew it wasn’t just his parents being bad parents; he _knew_ he did something that made them stay away, even if the Waynes kept saying otherwise. Well, now they can see it was just _him._

Tim isn’t good enough, quiet enough, perfect enough. And now that he’s shown them how horrible he really is, and ruined any chance with the Wayne pack, they—he kicks the pile of clothes away and presses himself into the far corner, and sobs. He can’t breathe; he was stupid, and he’s never going to have this again, and if he just wasn’t so _selfish—_ he shifts without thought and howls up his grief.

That’s worse, though, no wonder they’ll get rid of him. He’s noisy and secretive and a lot of work; the pack couldn’t leave him all alone and now _both_ the alpha and oldest pup are injured.

There’s a faint knocking, and he whimpers. He’s not ready to leave, it’s too soon, and he howls again. There are voices, but he refuses to listen. His closet door pushes open, and a deep voice says, “Tim? It’s me, I’m coming in.”

He made his _injured alpha_ come after him, because he is so stupidly selfish. The alpha limps in, leaving the door open. He can see the older pups out in his room, but he just whines and shows his belly to the alpha. _Go away, please go away, I’m sorry._

The alpha isn’t shifting, and he’s not sure what that means, exactly. Sitting carefully, the alpha scoops him up and holds him close. He freezes. Why is he being held?

“Tim, sweetheart, no one is mad at you.” He whines a little, because he knows that’s not true. “Can you shift back? We want to talk with you.” He whines again, because he doesn’t want to shift back, but his alpha is asking, and he probably shouldn’t make anything worse.

He jumps out of the alpha’s arms, and shifts back on the floor. The tears come back like they never stopped. “Please, Bruce, _pleas_ e, don’t send me away; I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to yell, and keep secrets, and get you hurt. I didn’t _mean it,_ I just didn’t know what to do, and I thought—well, if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me, but of course you didn’t know I already knew and—” Bruce reaches over and pulls Tim back into his lap, carefully avoiding his own injuries.

“No one is sending you away. You’re pack now. No one will _ever_ send you away. If you leave, we will find you.” It should sound threatening, but Tim feels warmth creeping back into his body. The panic overwhelmed him, so he hadn’t felt the cold and pain coming back, but he notices as they leave now.

“But—I got you hurt. Jason had to stay behind, and you went out without him.” Tim’s voice is small and wobbly as he curls up on Bruce’s lap. 

He thinks he should get sent away, but he’s learned Bruce has his own ideas of how to handle everything. Maybe he _should_ be sent away, but Bruce won’t consider it. 

“Sweetheart, none of this is your fault. Jason doesn’t stay behind because you need him, he stays behind because he _wants_ to stay with you. Even with all three of us out there, we still got hurt.” Tim listens, but doesn’t really believe it. 

As though Bruce can tell Tim is doubting, and he probably can, Bruce cuddles him close. “When we took you in, we knew you needed to heal from years of neglect. We knew someone would have to stay with you. We could have had you placed somewhere else, somewhere safe, but we want you here, with us. We love you, Tim.”

Tim squirms a little, uncomfortable with such blatant declarations of affection. “But, Gotham needs all of you, and—”

“No, you need us. We help Gotham because we can, but she isn’t ours alone to save. Family always comes first.” Bruce bends down and kisses Tim’s head, sending a small shock through him. 

There’s a pause, then Jason says loudly, “He’s real sappy, ain’t he?” Despite the words, everyone can hear the fondness. He sticks his head in the closet, to look at Tim. “Didja really know all along they weren’t just sleepin’ elsewhere? Is that why you never asked us why Bruce wasn’t in his own bed?”

Tim hears Dick give an annoyed sigh. “You couldn’t have given them a minute?”

“What?” Jason pulls his head out to look at Dick. “You’re tellin’ me you’re not curious?” He comes all the way in the closet, sits across from Bruce and Tim, and smiles encouragingly at Tim. “This is cozy.” 

Dick’s right behind him, saying, “You know, it _is_ kind of cozy.”

“So….want to share how ya know?”

Tim leans back against Bruce’s broad chest. “Well, when I was little—”

“You sayin’ you’re not little now?”

Dick elbows Jason and says, “Ignore him, Tim.” More warmth blossoms in Tim’s chest at their easy affection.

“I, well, I was really into gymnastics.” He feels suddenly shy, and looks intently at his pants. “I was learning all about the different moves different gymnasts can do, and I read about the Flying Grayson’s.” 

Jason leans into Dick, and, from the corner of his eye, Tim can see Dick grab Jason’s hand. It’s been eleven years, and Dick still grieves. “You were famous for the quadruple somersault, and no one else could do it, right?” 

He sneaks a glance upward, and Dick flashes Tim a small, almost sad, smile. 

“Well, then, two years ago the news caught footage of Nightwing. Doing a quadruple somersault.”

A moment of silence.

“I’ll be switched,” Jason says in awe. “That’s all it took?”

Tim shrugs a little, conscious that Bruce is injured under him. “It just...fit. I couldn’t guarantee it at first, but if you pay attention, you can find footage of some of your various injuries, and they match up to some of the sporting injuries you’ve gotten, or your longer absences.”

There’s a pause, while they absorb that a six year old figured out one of the world's best kept secrets.

Bruce laughs, finally. “You know, I keep thinking I’m going to be able to keep this secret from inquisitive pups, and I never do. Well, at least Dick taught me to make sure the door to the Cave can’t be left open.”

“You left the door open?” Jason is appalled. “I figured ya just told him, because he’d’ve noticed you bein’ gone all night.”

“It closes automatically, now,” Bruce defends, running his hand up and down Tim’s arm softly, affectionately.

Dick is laughing, though. “I _did_ notice, and that’s why I went looking. He told me he’d be working late, in the study. And then there was a partly open door…”

Jason snorts and says, “Did you wait for him down there?”

“No, I ran away and hid in my room, crying, because I thought he was going to send me away if he knew I knew.”

Tim perks up. He’s not the only one who worried about being sent away?

“He didn’t find out I knew for a while.” A shadow flits over Dick’s face, and then he smiles at Tim. “But it all worked out.”

“Better’n me, at least. I thought Batman was gonna—” Jason breaks off, suddenly, looking at Tim. “Well, I was scared, but Dad and Dick won me over eventually.”

Bruce gives a deep sigh, and cuddles Tim closer. “Maybe someday I’ll adopt a pup who won’t doubt my words. You’re all my family, my pack. I’m never sending _any_ of you away.” 

Tim’s being squeezed so tight he ends up making a breathless squeak. Bruce loosens his arms and Jason reaches out a hand to squeeze Tim’s foot.

“But,” Tim says hesitantly. “Now that you know I know, you can all go out together again?”

“Nah, babybird.” Jason stands, and bends down to gather up an armful of Tim from Bruce. Dick moves to help Bruce stand up. “You heard Dad. You need us and I want to stay with you. Being Robin’s fun and all, but pups need care.”

Tim snuggles into Jason as he asks, “Babybird?”

“Well, you’re the littlest bird, right?”

“Jason…” That’s Bruce, in a warning tone.

“What? He don’t _have_ to take over Robin when he’s bigger, but it’s kinda tradition now.” He tightens his arms around Tim. “Babybird’s gonna have to get a whole _lot_ bigger, though.”

“I could be Robin?” Tim thinks about that. He could be Robin. He’s part of the Wayne pack, they’re never letting him go, and now he might get to be Robin?

A sudden yawn reminds him it’s the middle of the night. He never did get that toast, but when they get back to the main den Alfred is there with food for all of them. He has everyone wash their hands before eating, then he checks Bruce’s wounds, and turns out the light as he leaves. Tim snuggles into the middle of the pack, feeling warm and safe. 

Sleepiness washes over him. It doesn’t matter if he’s ever Robin, or not. This is love. This is family. This is pack.

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce made me want to write him collecting Cass, because she at least would take him at face value.
> 
> Also you should Google for wolf carrying pup because it’s insanely adorable.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [come to your senses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29721171) by [envysparkler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler)




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